


Just Like A Name I Remember Hearing

by raquetgirl



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Mornings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:50:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9136954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raquetgirl/pseuds/raquetgirl
Summary: Confused expression makes his eyes crinkle, and she smiles reassuringly. “This is not a trap.”It kind of is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff. Fluff fluff fluff.

A long time ago, Iris realized there was something about her that inspired people to call her “baby.” Maybe it’s that Iris was an old-fashioned name, maybe it’s what Linda said when they started becoming close friends — _you’re so damn adorable, Iris West._

Back in college, her friends all called her “babe” or “hon.” Her dad only says her name when he’s upset; to him, she’s usually “baby” or “babe” — and maybe that’s why Eddie called her “baby” too. Every man she knows, from Barry to H.R., seems to take cues from Joe in some way or another. She adores Wally for calling her “sis.” It warms her somewhere deep in a place she didn’t know existed until he came into her life. 

But Barry has only ever called her Iris, and she loves the way it sounds. Still she can’t help asking him, one morning, too early, when the light is just starting to filter into their — _their_ — bedroom and they’re only just swimming up out of sleep, and he’s touching her skin lightly and they’re both on the verge of deciding whether to go further or, _sigh,_ get into the shower and start their days.

“Why do you always call me ‘Iris?’” She shivers as his hand slides down her waist to her hip.

“It’s your name, isn’t it?” His voice, mumbling and distracted, and coupled with a firm rub over her shorts-covered backside. He’s too drowsy to be suspicious.

“I mean—” her breath comes out shakily as two fingers from his free hand slide into the front of her waistband, “—you never call me anything but ‘Iris.’ Like, ‘baby’ or ‘honey’ or whatever.” Confused expression makes his eyes crinkle, and she smiles reassuringly. “This is not a trap.” 

It kind of is.

“Do you _want_ me to call you ‘baby?’” He pinches the back of her thigh, just enough to make her jump a little. 

“No, no—I just—I mean, I’m just wondering why you don’t have any pet names for me?” She smooths her palms down his sides. 

His voice is raspy and low, and she has to press in close to hear him. “I call you Iris because you are Iris. And Iris is everything to me. There’s just...” he pulls her closer, “I can’t think of a ‘pet name’ that better describes how I feel about you than..than your name.” 

Her smile feels embarrassingly wide and she hides her face in his collarbone, rubbing her nose against a freckle there.

“I could come up with one,” Barry’s voice is doubtful, but edging into dangerous playfulness. “If you really want one...”

“Barr.” A warning, though she knows it’s too late.

“Yes, pumpkin?” 

Iris groans into his chest.

“Hm. No. Cuddle cakes?” 

Iris responds to his silent laughter by digging the points of her nails into his back, leaving marks that she knows will fade in seconds. 

He hisses, shifting until she locked between his legs.“Tiger, I guess...” 

She still won’t lift her face from his chest, and his hand slips between them to tip her chin up. 

“You okay there, champ?” His grin is warm and inviting, and she shimmies up to kiss his bottom lip.

The kiss turns into something messy and heated, nips and bites and small gasps and his legs release her and she wraps her own around him, rolling her hips upward. One strong arm bands around her waist, simultaneously supporting him above her and keeping her in place, while the other hand slides upward into the roots of her hair. 

He deepens the kiss with slick warmth and goes slow, slow, with that tongue that’s practically weaponized for making her moan. Iris will never not marvel at how expertly he kisses her — like it’s something he was born to do or something he spent years studying and she can’t breathe and doesn’t care. When he finally pulls away for oxygen, burying his face in her shoulder, he’s panting and murmuring something she can’t quite hear.

“What was that?” She barely recognizes her own rough whisper as his hips push into hers and he strokes himself right where they both need it. 

“B-beloved.” He’s tugging at her thigh, bringing it higher to hook around his slim hips. His voice is gravelly and guttural, but clearer. “Beloved.”

It’s a little overwhelming, him calling her “beloved” and pulling his face back from her neck to look at her like _that_. Iris feels a little like she did the night he showed her the apartment: wrapped in love and surrounded by Barry, ready to freefall into him, and into them.

\--

A week or two later, they’re deciding where to go for dinner — and, okay, flirting — over text, when Iris has to put her phone down in the middle of a slightly steamy exchange to answer the question of an intern who’s stopped by her desk. After the kid is clear on which databases to search first, she flips her phone back over, and there’s a series of messages on the lock screen.

Barry Allen:

**And I promise to always feed you brownies in bed**

**?**

**You know I’ll do whatever you want except Joe ordered burritos from there for lunch; can we go to the Korean spot instead maybe**

**Iris**

**Beloved...**

Iris inhales sharply and taps her response out, already halfway out of her chair and shrugging into her coat:

 _Meet me at home_

_Now_

_We can order in_

 

fin


End file.
